


Lactose Intolerant

by AzulMountain



Series: Erotic Pastry Shop for the Supernatural [3]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Anal, Breastfeeding, Character Death In Dream, Derek Has Issues, Derek and Stiles are Mates, Dream Sex, M/M, Male Lactation, Mpreg, Nipple Torture, Non-Consensual Touching, Surreal
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-25
Updated: 2014-11-25
Packaged: 2018-02-26 23:34:43
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,383
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2670551
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AzulMountain/pseuds/AzulMountain
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Maybe making one too many busty creature cakes did it.</p><p>The supernatural has a way of creeping up on you.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Lactose Intolerant

**Author's Note:**

> Sorry. Not Sorry.

Stiles is a sweaty mess, he can feel the beads of moisture rolling and dipping under the folds of new fat tissue. It’s too hot. The heat wave that is burning up most of California means the temperature at night falls maybe two degrees from the high during the day and Derek’s usual ungodly amount of BTUs are not helping. Stiles is hot and he aches because he is a pregnant cow.

He pulls his half-asleep arm from under the dead weight of Derek’s hairy leg to rub at his round bump. He must have rolled off Derek’s deflated knot and just passed out because his foot is sitting comfortably on a pillow, while his neck is broken from the awkward angle. Derek usually takes better care of him as he is practically suffocating under the pile of sheets pushed to the end of the bed. Groaning in uncomfortable frustration, he passes gas.

God, he is a pregnant cow and why the hell is the ceiling fan off.

If Derek turned it off, the bastard can be the one to turn it on. Who cares if he’s asleep? Getting up these days is too hard.

“Derek!”

No answer. He whines with need and passes gas again. Now he really needs the fan or risk choking to death in his ‘choco-toots’ as Derek calls it, but Derek is weird and a pervert, so Stiles stays ordinary and calls them farts.

He tries to rouse Derek one more time before he gives in to doing himself and fails to do so. Gathering his sleepy brain cells to mount the task of lumbering out of bed, ends in a literal backfire. That fart echoes off the walls. Normally flatulence is a category of humor for him, but the pup is killing him with a constant craving for baked beans and apple sauce. Fructuous plus insoluble fiber equals explosion, hence the high methane contribution to the ozone and Derek’s mean nickname for him, Heifer. (Technically he is a young _male_ that has not borne a calf because the little calf is still very happy inside mama for another month or two. So, fuck you very much Derek.)

Stiles tries to put his elbow in a position to prop himself up, but stops when he feels his arm brush against something. It’s lumpy and warm. And sore. And wet. And attached to his chest.

_What the fuck!_

Stiles in his shock to see what it is and consequently flails his foot right into Derek’s nose. He can’t bring himself to care because in the neon-haze of the liquor store’s sign across the street, he sees the horrifying silhouette of a two breasts. And then he realizes he isn’t seeing double-double vision, he has multiple pairs of breasts and they are all steadily leaking milk.

Stiles naturally screams.

Derek growls at his loud awakening and chokes on a mouthful of blood from his damaged nose. Alert and wolfed out, after realizing he slept through someone injuring him, he visually checks the doorway behind Stiles’ screaming head for the intruder. A second frantic kick makes the sleepy wolf realize Stiles was the one that struck him and there is no other being in the room. His healing nose clears before his eyes stop watering. The air smells of rust and ions of his blood, the cloying sour smell of Stiles’ fear. He listens intently to hear the pup’s heartbeat is fine and then most wonderful smell wafts through the others.

He licks his lips and can practically taste his pregnant mate’s milk from the heady scent. He groans as he forms an instant erection at the thought of tasting Stiles’ milk.

Shuffling to over to his hysterical mate, he roughly presses the boy’s flummoxing hands away from the hills and folds of his mate’s newly formed tits. His dick is wailing for attention as Derek watches the twitching perky nipples pool the warm liquid, bouncing a beautiful undulating dance as Stiles’ chest frantically pulls in air.

“What did you do to me?!”

Derek had no idea this would happen when he successfully knocked his mate up. “It’s a miracle.”

“Wha’ the fuck are you talking about! I am a male with tits.” Stiles heaves his bloated girth forward, ignoring the agony in his shoulders and wrists to scream in Derek’s face.

Derek can’t take his eyes off the heavenly hilled valley where only hours ago was a mole dotted plain of a very male chest. The fatty mounds roll and bounce like fertile hills. Waterfalls of milk pool into the creases, forming gullies, and the milk washes over Stiles’ rounded hips and off the edge to gather in a damp sea around Stiles’ body.

Derek is panting, overwhelmed with desire to touch. Stiles is still screaming at him, but Derek doesn’t hear anything other than the soft trickle of milk gurgling out of the eight geysers and dribble off the hills before gathering in a torrent of white rapids. As the milk river travels downstream it is forced to split around the giant mound of the pup’s bulge, before dripping onto the wet sheets below. Entranced by the sheer volume of liquid, Derek can no longer stand the distance. He must go to this wondrous place.

Derek’s eyes glow gold as he bathes the valley in his golden sun, casting hilly shadows through the land as he lowers his nose over a puffy rose pebble and sniffs. He almost creams his sleep pants at the sweet nectar ambrosia of Stiles’ milk. He peaks as his tongue darts out to taste his mate’s peak. The savory cream texture is as warm and fluid as the mess running over his balls.

He must have more.

Stiles squeals as Derek’s lips greedily latch over his oversensitive skin and draws on teat. “Let go! It hurts- It’s weird.”

Derek rolls the nub with his tongue and can feel Stiles’ dick harden against his abs. Derek settles his damp crotch against Stiles’ entrance. His arousal combats his oversensitive organ and he can already feel it chubbing up. Sliding his hands back he takes a second to pull his sleep pants away and yank his growing dick out. He has no patience to divest Stiles of his sleepwear, but is happy to find his mate is still naked and wet with his come from their earlier sessions. He doesn’t bother fingering Stiles, he is already loose, and drives his partially erect cockhead into his mate’s warmth.

“Ughhh-“ Stiles pants as his passage is breached and growls as Derek continues to take liberties with his body. He can’t hold onto his anger long as the new tight ache in his chest is beginning to pool heat south. His dick twitches in interest as Derek’s scruffy face rubs against the foreign mounds of his heated skin.

His body arches with conflicting sensations as Derek wastes no time in grabbing a fertile hill in each hand, while continuing to drink from the torrent under his tongue. Stiles’ strains to give his dick the contact he needs, but Derek sole priority are the milk sacks that suddenly appeared. Even Derek has forgotten his monster cock buried in Stiles’ twitching passage as he nurses.

Frustrated that Derek is lost to his drink, Stiles gets over his initial fear of mammary organs and gives one a squeeze. “This feels amazing,” Stiles moans, not understanding what Heather was complaining about when it was their turn at seven minutes in junior high. Clearly hers were malfunctioning as he has only known he had these things for a mere three minutes and already he can tell that he’ll have trouble not touching himself all the time. Though the sure amount of liquid they fountain will get old; not to mention messy. Plus he has eight of them, surely the pup doesn’t need that many. It’s not like he is having a litter of six pups that will fight for suckling position.

“Do I really need eight nipples?” Stiles is going to have to come up with more recipes to use it all up. ‘Waste not want not’ was the saying in the Stilinski household and between the pup’s appetite and Derek’s greed he thinks he’ll still have extra for baking for his family.

Derek lifts his lips from the puffy tissue with a smear of milk around his mouth. Stiles thinks, ‘God the Dairy Council would love this picture for their got milk? campaign.’ There is only a thin ring of steel blue to his eyes. The rest is black pools, which freaks Stiles a little at how lost Derek is in this twisted development.

“Yes,” he replies simply and wastes no time latching on to another teat and gorging on the offered milk of that bosom.

Stiles is kind of getting why women get annoyed with men when it comes to breasts. For the last fifteen minutes it’s been nothing but snuffling and slurping with the occasional grope and Stiles is a bit bored. And sick of lying in a wet spot despite the heat. It’s going to smell like soured milk before he can get any action from his selfish mate. His hand would do the trick, but he can’t reach around his baby bump. The werewolf’s weight leaning against him pretty much prevents him from getting the motion or angle he needs to rock back on Derek’s motionless dick. Whining to get Derek to focus on more of him goes unheard. Derek is too lost in his eight tits and continues to gorge on his milk, growing fatter and fatter.

“This is a nightmare.”

And Stiles realizes it is as Derek lifts his head from Stiles’ chest, pulling the tortured teat with him. His werewolf teeth tug and pull the tortured flesh like a rough suckling puppy, until the nipple extends into a flesh straw to reach him in his standing naked glory. Stiles tries to move, but he is frozen and is forced to watch the surreal scene as Derek continues sucking in torrents of milk. Cold sweat breaks over his body as the enormous pressure pulls on his insides and Derek grows fat with Stiles’ nourishing milk and then everything else as the milk runs dry.

“STOP!”

Stiles screams as their squirming unborn pup is sucked from its magical womb, through Stiles’ nipple straw by Derek. It kicks as the lump travels through the tube like live mice in a snake before they suffocate and are digested.

“NO!”

The lump stills as Derek pauses mid suck to release the engorged nipple to unhinge his jaw. The nightmarish creature no longer looks like Derek in his human form, but some kind of mutated monster wolf. It flashes Stiles a smirk and sucks, drawing large breaths as he gathers the wiggling mass into his mouth and swallows the thing whole.

“Now all the milk is mine!” Derek bellows in a deep rattling voice. Clawed fingers pulls teat after teat, until all eight stretch to his mouth, and keeps feeding from Stiles. Just before Stiles wastes away, Derek drops the saggy straws and they coil to the ground no longer turgid with Stiles’ essence. The rotund fur ball belches so loud that it shakes the building.

The monster mews like a kitten once and then pops. Strawberry milk and gummy bears erupt in a flood that drowns Stiles and all turns black. 

* * *

 

 

A vibrating phone on the end table wakes Deaton from his sleep. Blurry eyed the man catches a brief look at the time, three in the morning, before the name has him quickly accepting the call.

“Stiles, what’s wrong?”

“Thank god, you picked up! Nothing is actually, wrong, wrong. Pup-bump and I are fine. It was a nightmare. Just please, please, you got to tell me something…” There is a rustling sound and a door closing with a squeak, before Stiles starts again in a whisper that he can’t understand.

“What?”

Stiles doesn’t answer. Deaton is tired and bit snappish, “It’s three in the morning, Stiles. Spit it out. You called me, remember?”  Deaton waits a long time for Stiles to respond. He almost thinks the phone call dropped, until Stiles shaky voice breathes out, “Will I get tits?”

“Excuse me, did you just ask me if you, a male, will get tits? Stiles, really?”

“I am pregnant aren’t I!?” Stiles yells, forgetting to keep quiet as Derek is still sleeping in the next room.

“No, Stiles. You will need to bottle feed your pup. Male pregnancy doesn’t mean you’ll suddenly become female.” Deaton answers and hangs up the phone to Stiles’ sigh of relief.

Stiles walks out of the bathroom, trying to keep the door from squeaking and snuggles back into bed. His heart is still beating like crazy from his nightmare. He double-triple checked his chest in front of the mirror under the bright vanity lights to make sure that there are no signs of six additional nipples or breast tissue might be forming on his chest. Of course he made sure to twist his own nipples until they were bright red in irritation to be sure no milk ejected before heading back in the bedroom to sleep.

Stiles curls into Derek’s arms and falls to sleep, glad he will never have to deal with reservoirs of milk and leaking tits. It will take him weeks to even be able to look at a straw or a glass of milk. Creature cakes highlighting multiple busty bosoms are off the bakery menu forever.

It is to the unpleasant fell of suctioning lips over his left nipple that has Stiles wide awake and swinging a punch before he even realizes it.

The snap of cartilage and excruciating pain wakes Derek from his pleasant dream. Blinking stupidly, Derek watches as his mate storms out of the room in confusion. He was having the best dream.

  

Derek is a bit put out when Stiles crawls into bed with a shirt on every night for the next couple weeks. His mate’s pebbled nipples are a strict no fly zone. Being off limits, the nubs naturally become an obsession for Derek. After that first dream, all the werewolf’s fantasies involve his heavily pregnant mate with bountiful milky tits.

And Derek wisely keeps them to himself.

 

**Author's Note:**

> So it isn't exactly explained that Derek and Stiles share the dream to a point. I guess mates can do that in the Erotic Pastry for the Supernatural world. Anyway, the dream changes for Stiles after he declares it a nightmare. He dreams one sequence, while Derek dreams his own. Derek's version, the selfish bastard, is basically-this is the best thing ever and just keeps nursing. He doesn't pop or kill anyone, he just suckles the night away and wakes up to a fist in the face. Boohoo for sour wolf. Hormonal-pregnant-Stiles-blast.
> 
> Maybe while he still dreaming he even got around to worshiping the rest of Stiles to put him out of his neglected misery, make him pancakes, and clean the bathroom (I can dream, too). Poor Stiles though, he won't know if Derek ended up knotting him like he likes cause he won't talk about it.
> 
> Communication is the key people.
> 
> Let me know if you enjoyed or if I squicked it.
> 
> Any requests, it may take a while to write it, but it might happen. Leave a comment. Cheers!


End file.
